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Superstars of Tomorrow

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"Every time background music plays in my head, I feel like there is nothing to be afraid of." —Fang Zhao Toward the end of the apocalyptic period, Fang Zhao lost his life. However, instead of dying, he found himself 500 years later in the body of a young and aspiring composer who shared the same name. Having received a second chance at life, Fang Zhao sets out to achieve the previous owner's dreams. Armed with the experience of living through an apocalyptic age and his profession as a composer before that period, Fang Zhao uses his talent, wits, and knowledge to make his mark in the entertainment industry of the future.

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Chapter 1The New World after the End of the Old

After a devastating meteor shower, the apocalypse beckoned as foreign elements sparked deadly mutations in animals, and micro-organisms invisible to the naked eye unleashed countless epidemics.

On top of their own diseases, mankind had to deal with mutated beasts. Threats loomed everywhere and a torrent of microbiological mutations lurked as illness and disaster halted progress and curbed productivity.

Bustling cities were reduced to ruins and vast plots of fertile land turned to hellish wastelands.

__________

Fang Zhao couldn’t remember how long he lingered in that apocalyptic world, how long he fought.

Ninety-odd years? Or perhaps 100 years?

He could no longer remember.

Before the apocalypse, he was a somewhat well-known composer whose career was on the rise. Just as he was about to release what he considered his best work, the mother of all wars arrived. He fled for survival and led troops into battle.

When conquered lands were recovered one after another, people thought the war would end soon and prosperous times would emerge. Yet this was when he collapsed, in the darkness before the dawn.

__________

"If you don’t have the determination to fight to the death, then this war will certainly be lost."

"That’s why earth’s population has dwindled from 8 billion to 80 million."

"Old Zhao, say, do you think we will win?"

"We will."

"I’m not afraid of death, but I am afraid of a Pyrrhic victory."

"We will win."

"That’s good. When we win, I’m going to find a place and start herding again. Boy, how I loved the ranch where we lived when I was a kid—the blue skies and the green pastures. What about you, Old Zhao? Are you going to relaunch your career as a composer?"

"Relaunch? I never stopped in the first place."

__________

In Fang Zhao’s head, a conversation he once had with his comrade Su Mu suddenly popped up.

The cries of his men facing imminent death and the howls of the mutated animals began to fade. The extreme pain from decades of illnesses and deadly wounds had been wiped from his memory as his body began to recover its senses.

The vitality of a withered tree that meets the spring was confusing to Fang Zhao. After all, he was more than 100 years old, an emaciated old man with damaged fingers. Even though his body had mutated and strengthened as a function of his immune system, he was still bogged down by injury and illness. He was also an old man. He felt like an overheated engine all the time and could no longer relax at will.

Just when Fang Zhao was about to carefully feel out his body, his brain was assaulted by a pain resembling pricking needles and barraged with images he couldn’t recognize, crowding his head to its breaking point.

As he gradually gained control of his body, Fang Zhao’s eyelids spasmed and he sat up to take deep breaths. The overloading of his brain blurred his vision, but as his headache faded, his vision resumed too, and Fang Zhao took in his unusual surroundings acutely.

With instincts and sensitivity honed from countless battles, Fang Zhao could tell without looking that he was in a foreign location.

No.

It wasn’t an unknown location.

A scene appeared in his mind, a seemingly very familiar scene.

This is where he used to live.

He was Fang Zhao and not Fang Zhao at the same time.

He died in that end-of-days war, but now he was reborn into the body of another person also called Fang Zhao. He survived.

Fang Zhao raised his hands and examined his 10 young, intact fingers. He dangled his legs, which were weak but felt no pain.

This was a young and healthy body.

Fang Zhao’s brain contained his own memories—the battles that led to his death were crystal clear, as were his nearly 100 years of fighting and being on the run. But at the same time, he was also equipped with the memories of his new host body.

This young man also named Fang Zhao was merely 23 years old and was about to complete his tertiary studies.

He was a young composer.

Unfortunately…

He was dumped after graduation and cheated just when he started his new job. A friend he considered a blood brother betrayed him and stole three months’ worth of his work. Succumbing to the blows, this man chose the final resolution—suicide.

Fang Zhao was puzzled. Apocalypse had been avoided. Why would anyone give up on life in such a beautiful world?

After all, it was merely a case of heartbreak, piracy, and betrayal.

So what?

Did the world fall apart?

People who lived during the end of days tried so hard to survive, and this boy took his life over such petty matters. People from the end of days wouldn’t get it.

But after all, these were peaceful times after what was thought to be the end of days. People thought differently in times of peace. Fang Zhao also lived during peacetime, but it was too long ago and such good memories had already blurred by a giant sea of bloodshed.

How did people from peacetime think?

Never mind. What has happened has happened.

As Fang Zhao canvassed the memories of his host body, exasperation mixed with pity. Someone who chose to resolve things like this was too cowardly. It was a form of avoidance. The host was dead, and yet the person who poached his work was living happily and enjoying greater status. Was his death worth it?

In any case, Fang Zhao felt it wasn’t. Current grievances were best avenged in the present—who knew if there was an afterlife.

The original owner of his body was afraid to confront his circumstances, but Fang Zhao was different.

Someone who had endured the end of days naturally had a different temperament than people from peacetime.

The more memories he uncovered, the more amazed Fang Zhao was.

There really was a new world.

All those years of battle and all those of years of hellish living were worth it. While searching the memories of his new body, Fang Zhao remained vigilant toward his surroundings as well. Even when he was in a safe environment, Fang Zhao couldn’t relax. It was an old habit cultivated during the end of days, which was also why he was able to survive for so many years.

As a whining sound from nearby grew, Fang Zhao stopped searching his new memory and looked over.

He had already sensed another life form in this narrow room, but it posed no threat and didn’t signal the intent to attack. Drawing from his experience from the end of days, beasts like this weren’t of the violent, mutated variety, so he didn’t pay much attention. Fang Zhao only shifted his focus as the noise grew.

It was only a small dog with tangled, finger-long fur. Its coat was stained with an unknown substance. It was very skinny. Remove its fur and all that was left was a veiled skeleton.

The stray dog the original owner of his body had adopted before committing suicide.

After adopting the dog last night, he fed it a spiked dinner. He ate half and fed the remaining half to the dog – both portions were mixed with poison he bought from a drug store.

An empty bowl lay on a table nearby. Its drugged contents were gone, but the plate next to the dog was left untouched.

Fang Zhao knew from his new memories that the dog was in poor health last night. He could barely stand. A day later it seemed in better shape, but it still had trouble getting up. It lay there with its head titled slightly, his neck twisted in Fang Zhao’s direction. Tail wagging, its black eyes started at Fang Zhao.

Fang Zhao dangled his legs. Even though they were weak, he could walk.

He planted his feet on the ground. The wholesome feeling that traveled from the soles of his feet to his brain made his heart race.

Fang Zhao walked carefully and deliberately, as if verifying the reality before him.

One step, two steps...

Soon the probing steps became confident moves, as every cell in his body came alive with his heightened mood.

How lucky he was to return from the dead.

Fang Zhao walked toward the dog, knelt, picked up the plate of unknown material carrying the muck that was the poisoned food and tossed it into the garbage can.

As he bore witness to Fang Zhao’s actions, the dog’s spirits appeared to be lifted and his eyes became more expressive.

There was no more food in the apartment. Drawing from his new memory, Fang Zhao took a bowl from the cupboard. He felt the surface of the bowl and determined it wasn’t a material he knew. It looked ceramic, but it felt like some sort of plastic composite. It was very light.

His brain contained vague memories about the new material, but Fang Zhao could only gather from these fragments that it was a material that dissolves quickly in certain conditions without releasing any pollutants.

Fang Zhao dropped the matter and fetched half a bowl from the pool, which he knew about his new memory, and placed it in front of the dog.

The dog got up with a swagger, looking like it would collapse at any moment. But it stood stiffly and lapped up the bowl of water, its tail wagging slightly.

Even though it was a stray dog, it was still doing its best to survive.

Fang Zhao looked at that dog, then focused his attention on the small apartment.

It was about 20 square meters, crowded and messy. One corner was a total disaster. But his new memory told Fang Zhao that the same corner was the tidiest part of the room before yesterday.

That small corner taking up about four square meters was where the previous owner of his body worked. All the songs he composed in the past two months were completed in that cramped corner.

Many of the tools and appliances in the apartment were alien to Fang Zhou. He had never seen home appliances before. But he could decipher everything with his new memory. As long as his new memory was fully integrated, he could navigate his new world easily.

Fang Zhou walked toward a spot and pressed a small button on the wall. A waist-high cabinet thrust forward. A mirror was placed on top of the cabinet.

Ignoring the mirror itself and the material of the cabinet, Fang Zhao carefully examined the man in the mirror.

The original owner of his new body looked somewhat like Fang Zhao, even though Fang Zhao couldn’t remember what he looked like when he was a young man. Still, the face in the mirror looked a bit familiar, based on Fang Zhao’s own memories instead of his new ones.

The two Fang Zhao were cosmically linked after all.

Even though he didn’t know how he obtained a healthy new body, Fang Zhao disagreed with what its original owner did. But now that he inherited his body and memories, Fang Zhao had to take stock.

Staring at the eyes in the mirror, he said in a serious tone,

"I’m taking over the life you abandoned."

"I will exact revenge for you."

"I will repay your debts."

"So your dream is to become a world-famous composer? It just so happens I used to be one."

Fang Zhao was actually quite ambitious, but he had landed in a new world that he didn’t know, after all. As grand as his ambitions were, they had to be grounded in reality and competence. Maybe he could fulfill the dreams that he couldn’t during the end of days.

Anyone can talk big, but before adapting to his new surroundings and figuring out his skillset, talk was just talk.

Fang Zhao shoved the cabinet back into the wall, walked toward the window and opened it.

It was nearly noon and the weather was great. The curtains had been drawn already, but the apartment was still dim, because this was a "black" street, a slum-like neighborhood.

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BeetleBarkerLv5

IcemelonLv5

It's a novel about a guy from an apocalyptic age time traveling to the future. Although the MC is probably some combat monster, the novel is more focused on the MC's preapocalypse profession of being a composer. His experience helps in paving his path in the music industry, but I like how it's not a super cheat that blows away competition. He doesn't go "oh Imma use music style 500 years ago to be first in this newcomer competition thing!", and I'm happy that he doesn't really get close to first place but still has a placing that is befitting of an MC. It's not an MC can do everything (and by everything I mean plagiarizing works from others and act all mighty) and provoke countless people because he's too good novel, I'm talking about you IRAS. MC gets his placing because he has talent and experience, not because the works from his time was better or whatnot. People have saying IRAS this IRAS that, but no, it's not like that obnoxious novel. Or at least so far, we haven't yet seen stupid fan service, and although you can kinda see that horrendous cycle of "ppl underestimate MC, MC proceeds to face smack them," I like to think that the author is well aware of what he's doing and only skims through it, not spending 5 fucking chapters filled with people ridiculing MC while some people go "bla bla bla, MC is good, but I don't think he can make it out of this one." (I think I just spoiled the entirety of I Really Am a Superstar for you, sorry if you haven't read it yet). Author spends more time on other relevant things, which I appreciate a lot. A lot of the chapters are spent on the MC's work rather than others' reactions. But don't worry about the whole crowd reaction thing, it's not absent in this novel. Author has been innovative in showing the reactions so far, a far cry from just random people screaming with !!! at how good the MC is. I like how things are more believable in the industry part, you see a a lot of the insider stuff in play. I like to think that the author knows what he's doing, compared to just having a character with some sort of position but not really acting the part. I'm super glad we haven't yet seen the horror of a narrow minded upper management that plagued IRAS. In fact, the upper management so far in this novel have that kind of comical feel of what's it like to have a high position, but is actually plagued by all the work and responsibilities that they have. So far, we haven't yet had a hateable character. There's that guy who betrayed the MC's body's previous owner, but you can't really hate the guy since he's as good as dead meat, just waiting to die (even he himself knows that he's dead meat). I like the scifi part of it. I usually hate scifi since it's mostly filled with plotholes and inconsistencies, but I like how the author had the scifi in a manageable level. We haven't actually really seen much of the scifi part apart from flying cars and virtual idols yet, but nothing overboard so far has happened. I actually really like the whole virtual idol thing, which has a big part in the novel. I'm a Vocaloid pseudo-fan, and it's cool seeing the concept in a novel. But don't worry if you hate Vocaloid, since the idols are actually based more on actual idols, and there's this virtual idol vs human idol thing going on in the novel. I guess you can only really call it a subplot at this point since the focus isn't really on them because the virtual idol the MC is making is really unique in the novel's context. The chapters have either been short, or that it was really enjoyable I didn't notice I was already at ch 23. Not much has happened, but you can really see the progress. The translation speed is good, so I think it'll be all good on the pacing part. It has been really enjoyable so far, and I hope it stays this way. I have high hopes for this novel.

LikoPilioLv4

Reviewing a story never had been one of my strong suit. There were an old saying from my place that books are the window of the world, and I had admit the truth of that piece of wisdom numerous time before, and yet once again, today, as I reach the latest chapter of sixty-two, I reconfirm that adage once more. Human are an emotional being. It's the price we paid for our elevated consciousness. Our critical thinking, our theory of mind, and the whole civilization were built by the whisper of our gene who crave to ever prosper. However the reality is that the planet are a place of limited resources. So we make tactful deal and negotiation to let ourselves a wiggle room to survive. Even when we know that our surrender betrayed our principles. Our morality. Or even our humanity. We still done it and keep doing it to the time everlasting. How many times we had ever let our superiors bullied ourselves in the workplace? How many times we turn our face away witnessing a crime on the street, become bystander, because we know we lacks the mean. Most of us are not physically strong, in fact we slightly out of shape from those office job of constant sitting down. Not all of us have a higher connection in the right place. We have family, significant other, and most importantly we have ourselves to protect. Who want to waste away their safety for a complete stranger? Chinese literature of qidian-esque style were my guilty pleasure. Most decent literature of emotive storytelling never fell short from the common theme fact that the truth in it's barest essence were multifaceted. Xianxia market destroy those rigid status quo by elevating one of the most striking character of Aesop's fable from their humble mission in teaching the children of morality through compelling narrative to a genre which We, the ***** who scrambling throughout life by faking pleasantaries and acquiescing compromise to able to personify the main character in a cathartic release of the absolute moral high ground where the black and white was a clear as a day like those fairy tales we used to read as a child. Does it felt good to see a face-smacking, face-slapping protagonist triumph in their latest escapade of yet another quest of a straightforward arrogant villain? When the truth is so black and white, when our ability flabbergasted the crowd, when there is no question of our recourse, of our moral choice. The one who answer no, I shall shamelessly call you a liar. When I stumbled this piece of work, I piqued the name of 'superstars' as an rehashed version of I'm Really a Superstar by Cheng Yu. Chinese light novel work by 'rehashing' an established tropes until it become the genre of it's own right. Like what happened to the Cultivation Chat Group and Red Packet System, so I thought it was about time for another Zhang Ye. O boy how I was utterly wrong. One of the trend that I noticed in reading chinese light novel so far is that this genre, for lack of better word is a genre that written in a languange that lack of adjectives. Most of the not-so-great and not-well-written piece would bore me to death because the Author would use the same description, the same vocabularies, the same quotes over and over again (remember, as common as cabbage in the market?). That sucked big. One of the reason that languange were deemed rich, because they could explain the nuance and evoke emotion by presenting different word for a similar situation. I'm not a sinologist myself, but in my humble opinion this happened because the horrible way the Chinese Character is written. Japanese and Korean government (Sorry Zhang Ye...) realized that the tools of communication transcend the need of a beautiful artistry that the scholar-official of the chinese old so keen to keep creating anew. The artificial status that were glorified through generational, ever more difficult imperial examination. Of ever more obfuscating character deprive the better, the greater, and the more accurate part of languange from the masses. No wonder there's a chinese equivalent of "it look's all greek to me". All of the unlearned characters does look like a heavenly script to them. But this novel pass through that hurdle like a breeze, the piece never lack superfluousness, the hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian word were abundant, the chapter were large but it stitched so perfectly that it felt like a symphony. And when I came to the passage when the musical movement were described, word failed me. It vivid. I can see in the front of my eyes the despair, the struggle, and the acceptance. I see heroism embodied and selflessness crystallized. The movement break through the barrier of limitation that is writing. Not all of us is musically inclined. Not all of us could synthesize song in our head with a flair of grace. People used their eyes the most. So what we could and often do as an avid reader is imagining the potrayal of picture, of images, and of scenery to paint a picture of the forlorn fantasy that the author wish to convey. Music is one of the greatest limitation. Chance are, if you never heard the piece, you'd never felt the song through writing. But this. This Superstars of Tommorow succeed. Wholesomely. It managed to create an equivalent music substitute that I never been able to experience via a written or even drawn medium. And that is why I wrote this review. To tell the author, the translator, the editor, and the whole qidian community, that you had managed to score another fans.

ExtrovertLonerLv5

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